Healing
by Kurohane Ookami
Summary: George was hit hard by the death of Fred. But what happened in the weeks following his death? He stays at Shell Cottage, not living. But when he does, he discovers what the true meaning of family is. One-shot.


A/N: This is a one-shot of George after his twins death.

Gred and Forge.

3

_"Give her hell from us Peeves!"_

_Fred&George, The Order of the Pheonix_

It was quiet, the waves crashing against the beach like drums.

A lone figure stood in stark contrast against the cloudy sky and ocean.

George had no more tears to shed. The pain of losing half of himself was pain enough, but when that half was all you'd had your entire life, it changed the way of thinking.

He no longer cared about the world around him, no longer cared about the joke shop he and his brother had begun as rebels. Remembered all of the pranks at school. Remembered their wands choosing them, brother wands. Remembering their first brooms, the exact same.

Fred was loud and mischievous. George complimented him by being the quieter and more reserved jokester.

The love between them had been deep.

And now he was gone...

With a howl, George fell to his knees, long hair falling around his face as another stream of tears fell down his face. He beat his hands upon the rocks, wondering why it couldn't have been him instead. Wondering why it couldn't have been someone elses brother, son, nephew, cousin. Wondering why it had to have been to him. Cursing Voldemort for the war, cursing the wizard who had killed him.

Molly and Arthur were constantly looking through photos, watching Fred and George, side by side, growing up.

Ginny would get a far off look in her eye every once in a while before bursting into tears and running to her room, wailing.

Ron just stayed in his room, staring blankly at his wall, posters of his brothers joke shop logo and photos of the past plastered everywhere.

Bill and Fleur had taken George in, letting him stay, sullen and introverted, in their home.

Charlie had immediately went back to Romania, working with the dragons to keep his mind off of everything.

Percy was the one hit the hardest next to George, having seen his brother die in front of him. He'd taken over the joke shop, wanting a part of his younger brother to live on in the various objects he'd helped manufacture.

George howled his pain into the hail, knuckles bloody, his body slumping as he cried out everything.

Sirius. Lupin. Tonks. Dobby. Dumbledore. Names and faces, people George had known, even just for a moment.

Fred. His face set in a taunting smirk, his face blissful as a prank succeeded.

Detention. Quidditch. Best Friends.

Brothers.

Twins.

_"It should have been me..." _George spoke raggedly, face turning up towards the pelting sky.

_"It should have been me..."_

But where would that get him? Fred would be the one here, mourning, and he'd be dead. Everyone would still be mourning.

How many more had to die?

Choking a sob back, George stood, unsteadily.

He managed to stagger back to the cottage, where Fleur made herself scarce, only helping bandage his knuckles silently, giving him a look of pity.

Shivering, George woodenly made the motions. He walked to his room. He dried off and changed. When he re-entered the living room, he stood at the window overlooking the beach, staring out with blank eyes. There was no life there anymore.

When Bill walked through the door, the first thing he saw was his younger brother, standing at the window, a hand touching the glass and tracing a palm shape idly.

He'd only just come out of his room, the first time since arriving. George turned, his hollow eyes meeting Bill's.

All Bill could see was the pain.

He stepped towards George, his eyes watering.

George met him, and suddenly George was just a little boy again, hurt, coming to Bill for comfort. His sobs wracked his thin frame, and Bill clutched him close, his own tears streaming down his own face. Fleur hovered off to one side, watching as the two brothers found comfort in each other.

0-0-0-0

How many had died? Sons and Daughters, Mothers and Fathers. Cousins, Aunts, Uncles. Brothers and Sisters.

Fred had been one of those Brothers, one of those Sons. He'd been one of those Cousins, one of those Nephews.

Fred had been one of the many to die.

But his legacy lived on in George.

His twin...

That night, the clouds threw torrents of rain down upon the Shell Cottage, as if it too, were grieving for the loss of Fred.

George stared at his ceiling, his blank stare fixated on the smallest of cracks and patterns.

After hours, he drifted off into sleep.

A form shaped by his bed, a tall young man, his body barely visible. His long hair hung teasingly around his face. A sad smile was set in his face as Fred watched his brother sleep. Tears slipped out of his eyes, and he saw that even in sleep, his twin was crying too.

He leaned down, cupping his brothers cheek in a clear hand, and whispered in George's ear.

_"I miss you too..."_

The next morning, George woke to find Fred's wand on his bed, a crimson feather around the length, sealed by magic.

When he showed it to Bill, he was just as shocked, but they knew Fred was telling them that he was okay where he was.

And thus, the Twin brother of Fred began his journey of healing...

_Fred watches George to this day, and lives on in his nephew, Fred the Second. _

A/N: I actually broke down in tears when I wrote this.


End file.
